


Slowtown

by iimplicitt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Dark Magic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Inspired by Poetry, Killing, Magic, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Murder, Murder-Suicide, Near Death Experiences, Poetic, Poetry, Possessive Tom Riddle, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Sex, Smut, Suggestive Themes, Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), World War II, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:42:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28144785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimplicitt/pseuds/iimplicitt
Summary: no grave can hold her body down - she crawls back to him - haunting the boy who buried her.TOM RIDDLE didn't like his sins lurking after he committed them.
Relationships: Tom Riddle/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	1. prelude

**Author's Note:**

> chapters titled present are in tom's pov, while chapters titled past are in diana's.

**she wanted to know him** \- her mistake - now she was colder than she's ever been. diana looked at herself and then looked up at him - she couldn't recognize herself - not anymore.

she knew tom riddle more than she knew her own heart. it didn't matter, not anymore she supposed.

dirt fell in soft snow, coating her skin but she couldn't feel it.

she asked him to treat her gently and perhaps he did in these final moments - laying her softly in the ground. 


	2. present i

**when they found your body** , the trembles that ran through the castle were palpable - one could mistake this school had a heart.

maybe it did - how would i know?

it's let me kill before - a basilisk running through its veins - so if hogwarts did have a heart, it was poisoned.

in the halls people will give me that look - the one that screams _i'm so sorry_ \- i feign mourning - i still smile.

i'm head boy - i refrain from chuckling - i have to stay strong for my peers.

if i were to break who would be left?

_i'm so sorry, tom._

_thank you._

_tom i'm sorry for your loss._

_thank you._

_tom, how are you doing?_

_my best, thank you_ \- and i'd bow my head in mock virtue and faux melancholy would grip my features and twist into young pain.

when the next turns their back i continue down the hall - lips tilted - you'd be amused. you would.

you always complimented my nature in lying - laughing behind your own mask at those who wouldn't see.

you observed though, you knew. you always knew. that's why i approached you all those months ago - you knew and i was curious.

the moment i said _hello_ , the moment you said it back, i was planning your funeral.

did you know that?

part of me thinks you did.

 _tom my boy, how are you holding up?_ slughorn was grim, more so than usual - he liked you, you weren't well connected but had a knack for deadly poisons.

i water my eyes, _fine sir... trying to be, at least._

he pats my shoulder and it burns and i keep walking.

perhaps you weren't expecting such a reaction from the school, diana.

when i started watching you - they did too.

when i started talking to you - they whispered.

when i started to walk with you - they followed.

everyone knew you, did you know that? you always thought you were invisible - you were - at first.

not anymore, thanks to me.

i'm sure that would annoy you, you hated when i took credit - which was always.

nonetheless, your name blew through the halls like loose leaves and everyone knew you.

_tom._

_professor dumbledore._

he eyed me a long moment - i hate him - but he put you in my path so perhaps i owe the old fool minor credit.

_how are you?_

_i'm alright, sir._

he stares at me for another moment- nods - mouth opens - closes.

he suspects but won't voice it, and leaves.

the cheshire in me wants to grin, but i don't.

everyone knew you now, they stare at the fresh pile of dirt at the edge of the lake like it's an art exhibition.

you're welcome, diana.

_are you expecting me to say thank you?_

my veins turn to thorn invested vines - i turn - cold - very cold - i can't breathe.

i stare at you - _how?_

you grin - you look deadly.

 _hello_.   
  
i reach out to you - pure impulse - muscle memory - my fingers slip through.

my mouth is so dry it feels like gravel - i can't breathe.

when you said you wished to haunt me i didn't think you actually would.


	3. past i

**the** shelves breathe me in and i sink into a chair, the hard wood soft as it shapes to my spine.

i must read.

i don't know how to live if i don't.

every night i make the journey from the dungeons to the library - i hate the cold.

i despise it.

why couldn't they have made the snakes pit heated? warming our scales so we can coil in comfort?

did they forget serpents are cold blooded?

we won't burn - we never will.

i hate the cold - so i find refuge in the warm candles of the library.

i must read.

not during the day - not in the harsh light of the sun. i know i say i hate cold but i don't like the sun either.

it doesn't make sense - i like it that way.

so i make my nightly commune - i sit up late - by back always hurts - but i like to keep the moon company.

he's so lonely.

i must inquire what the pages tell me, they whisper their words in lines of black ink - staining my mind and i love it. 

i'll read anything, truly. 

i've never hated a book - if one does not satisfy me, i find another - if i hate the ending, i take a new one - if the message is poor, a another title it is. 

even if i don't understand what the ink is trying to tell me, i listen and watch and let the ink stain me. 

there's a breath - hot - heavy - distant - somewhere else in the shelves. 

i stiffen but then hear the snap of a match - i know its you. 

usually i don't like people in my library - yes, mine - it may reside in hogwarts and it might be open to all - but it's mine. 

you're alright though, i suppose. 

you're quiet and you appreciate and you let the ink stain you too, i can tell. 

i don't think you ever see me, that's alright - i don't want you to talk to me anyhow.

you're a book i have yet to read, the pages filled with riddle's i probably won't ever grasp. 

when i watch you read - study - smoke - write - stretch - read - exhale - you never yawn - study - i can tell when you pour over the pages, the world's axis tips and reality is different for you.

i can tell. 

you don't see the world like anyone else - not even me, i suppose. 

i see the world in white slates and black lines.

you're calm - still - as i watch you.

a new habit of mine, i like watching your conviction. 

smoke - read - write - smoke - stretch - you turn.

i stare, dumbly might i add like a child caught on christmas. 

curiosity and amusement tilts your brow and you lean back in your seat, trying to see into my shadows.

_hello?_

should i reply?

we've been acquainted strangers for awhile now. 

i know the idea of you - tom riddle, head boy, mr perfect - but not you - do i want to?

we've muttered quick and forgetful greetings over the years - perhaps a few silent _sorry_ 's if we happened to bump into each other in the hall - even perhaps a _thank you_ or two at one of slughorn's dinners. 

i stare a bit longer - gazing - my eyes burn - i see ink in yours.

yes, i want to know you.

_hi._


End file.
